


The Lost Hours: A Brief Trifurcation

by Elisheva_Nadir



Series: The Lost Hours [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-27
Updated: 2013-02-27
Packaged: 2017-12-03 18:35:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/701365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elisheva_Nadir/pseuds/Elisheva_Nadir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's easy to lull Sherlock away from his bad habits as long as he's creating new ones.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Lost Hours: A Brief Trifurcation

**Author's Note:**

> "The Lost Hours" is a series of shorts (and perhaps not so shorts) of post-return of Sherlock wherein Mary Morstan has entered the picture as John's girlfriend/fiancee/wife.

"You can stop giving me that look, you know," Mary said even though she was more focused on the telly and brushing her hair than giving Sherlock a once over. John was off at the hospital and because it seemed that there was a great lack of "stimulating crimes" to be found, Sherlock was sulking in 221B Baker Street.

            "You can't possibly know the expression on my face; you haven't turned 'round once yet to look at me," Sherlock said, sounding petulant. It was a familiar tone that was worsening with each passing day. Mary swore that John frequented the hospital more and more just to get away from Sherlock's infantile tantrums.

            "I can hear you thinking, Sherlock, and they're not polite thoughts. Of course you look sour."

            "Again, improbable assumptions based on prior history of,"

            "You're angry that I touched your things," Mary said, cutting him off.

            "You _cleaned_ ," Sherlock said, as if it were the most vile of words imaginable. "You didn't merely _touch_ my things you,"

            "Sherlock," Mary harrumphed, not wanting to hear his tirade about how everything was exactly where it needed to be. She turned around to look at him and he was indeed pouting, his brow furrowed as he glared at her, arms crossed over his chest and feet drawn up on to the chair. "For someone who dresses as… fastidiously as you do, I can't believe you let yourself live in a dump." Sherlock gave her a scowl before launching himself out of his chair, dashing to scoop up his violin to pluck a couple of notes on it.

            Mary turned back to the telly, only partially interested in the documentary about Roald Dahl now. She listened more to Sherlock pace as he plucked a flurry of notes then paused, then a few discordant ones, another round of notes and finally he picked up his bow. Mary inhaled what probably sounded like a long suffering sigh, now Sherlock was going to play long drawn out sounds that more resembled cries of anguish than anything beautiful. All though there was a great deal of beauty in the sadness that Sherlock could produce from his violin.

            "Mary," Sherlock said, circling about the room to stand beside the telly, lazily drawing the bow back and forth over the strings. "Where has he hidden it?" Mary gave her hair a few more strokes with the brush, frowning as she tried to concentrate on the telly suddenly. What actress had Roald slept with?

            "Mary," Sherlock said, moving to block her view. "Where?"

            "It's all gone, Sherlock," Mary said, looking up at him. With his head cocked to hold the violin and his keen blue eyes trained on her, Mary felt rather unsettled. Sherlock always had an intensity about him, a sharpness, but there was just the barest hint of wildness in those eyes today. He didn't look quite right.

            "John would never,"

            "It's _all_ gone," Mary repeated. "No booze, no cigarettes, no recreational drugs. We've talked about this."

            "You have the most atrocious and reprehensible manner of cutting me off, Mary Morstan." Sherlock lowered his violin and bow, his gaze now turned suspicious. "You're over eager to placate me in to thinking that John has confiscated my things. Which means that they're still _here_." Mary rolled her eyes and placed her hairbrush down.

            "You're making things up, John was serious this time. Tear through the house, you won't find anything." Mary turned her attention to braiding her hair back and promptly ignored Sherlock. He was looking to pick a fight or use his _deduction_ skills to ramble something off that would be suitably impressive but off the mark given how dull things had become.

            "Fine. Then I'll leave," Sherlock said. Mary froze, her fingers in her hair as she pulled it back from her face.

            "Make one move to that door and I will tackle you to the floor and tie you to the radiator," Mary threatened, her expression dark.

            "As adequate as you believe your fighting skills to be they are not up to par. You will merely be an inconvenience," Sherlock said, looking sure of his words but not making a move towards the door.

            "I learned from last time, you know I'll punch you if I have to," Mary said, bringing her hands to her lap.

            "And you will remember that I allow no quarter regardless of gender and that it is only the level of skill that is to determine the level of force to achieve the desired outcome." Mary felt her body tense and she knew that Sherlock saw it too. Unlike last time, she really would fling herself at him and tie him down. The resulting bruise from their previous tussle had not gone unnoticed by John who had railed at Sherlock, nearly coming to blows in the process.

            "Remember that my legs are stronger than yours." Mary shifted in her seat, her feet resting on her toes.

            "Yes, I quite clearly remember you wrapping your thighs about my face but I didn't find it nearly as enjoyable as Watson seems to," Sherlock said, picking his violin and bow up once more and sauntering off, playing a few mournful notes as he made his way to stand by the window. Mary flushed at the implication. Sherlock hadn't believed that she would really tackle him to make him stay in the apartment but when Mary had wrapped her legs around his neck and tried to smother his face in to her thigh, all bets had been called off. The pair had struggled for several minutes, Mary tightening herself around Sherlock like a snake, holding his arm behind his back as if she meant to break it but it was Sherlock in the end who broke Mary's resolve. He had been prepared to dislocate his shoulder in order to break her hold and Mary had been too squeamish to let that happen. Luckily, John had chosen that moment to come back from the grocers.

            Mary went back to braiding her hair, her focus more on Sherlock's violin playing than her hair which resulted in having to start her braid over several times. She was worried he'd wait for her to fall in to a lull and then slip out the window.

            "I don't know why you bother trying to accomplish more than one sensory objective at a time when you proceed to fail at it so miserably," Sherlock said, the nearness of his voice meaning that he had come to stand right behind her. "Your focus is neither on my playing nor your… hair and because of this you failed to realize I moved directly behind you and that you have lost the pattern for your braid." Mary turned around to look at him, he had gotten rid of the violin and bow but he wasn't really looking at her, he was looking at her hair. "It's a simple process, one that children are capable of doing with great speed and accuracy." Mary arched one golden brow at him.

            "Remember that thing we talked about? The one where you keep mean thoughts to yourself?" Mary turned back around, picking up her brush to smooth out the tangles she had managed to make in her hair. At the rate she was going her arms would tire out long before she accomplished even half a braid.

            "While honesty is often hurtful I find it to be the surest way to exact my meaning," Sherlock said, plucking the brush from Mary's hand and taking over. Mary started to protest, experience from past boyfriends and men in general who had wanted to brush her hair dictating that he was about to abuse her scalp, but the first stroke was smooth. Sherlock worked with hand and brush to pull her hair in to a ponytail, the bristles pressing deliciously against her scalp and against the nape of her neck. It felt positively sinful.

            "When did you learn to brush a girls hair?" Mary asked, her eyes closed and head gently rocking back.

            "I observed you," Sherlock replied. Mary hummed, giving a sigh as the brush was put aside and Sherlock began to part her hair in to three sections at the crown.

            "Did you also learn how to braid hair by _observing_ me?" Mary asked, eyes still closed and trying not to purr at the feel of Sherlock's fingers in her hair.

            "No. I have seen a completed French plait and the effect is easily duplicated," Sherlock said, his fingers feeling nimble as he wove strands in and out, pausing to gather more hair. "The expression on your face is one akin to intense pleasure, do you find this sexually stimulating?" Sherlock asked, genuine curiosity in his voice. Mary would have been shocked if it wasn't for the fact that she felt so utterly calm and soothed.

            "You've obviously never let anyone brush your hair," Mary replied, tilting her head forward at Sherlock's gentle urging. "It's like a wonderful massage for your scalp." Sherlock was done far sooner than Mary wanted, even tying it off neatly with a hair elastic.

            "My hair has always been kept short and I have not owned a brush since I was a child and only then on my mother's behest. Longer styles are time consuming and a waist of energy that could be expended elsewhere and for greater purpose." Sherlock moved 'round to stand in front of Mary, her brush in his hand. "You will brush my hair now then. I wish to know how it feels." And with that, Sherlock turned on his heel and sunk to the ground, sitting between Mary's feet.

            "If I'm too rough or I pull, you have to let me know," Mary said, eyeing his curly mop with a bit of unease. She had no problem attacking her own tresses when they were unruly but it was a daunting thing to do for someone else.

            "Proceed," Sherlock said. Mary hesitated, using her fingers to run through his hair lightly to test for snarls but there were none and his hair had a decent amount of give. The first run of her brush through his dark mane he did nothing. But by the time she had worked the bristles close to his temples and was using her free hand to help, Sherlock was gently swaying with each pull of the brush. When Mary started to stroke upward, working from his nape to the crown of his head, he gave a deep hum of pleasure. Mary focused her attention on the underside of his hair, knowing that she liked it best when someone did that for her.

            In no time Sherlock had rested his head against her knee and was breathing deeply, as if he were asleep but when Mary started to stop he gave a small protest. And that's how John found them.

            "What did you do to him?" John asked Mary as she looked up to see his bewildered face. Sherlock was sprawled out between her feet, his face all but nuzzling the soft underside of her knee.

            "Nothing. He wanted me to brush his hair."

            "What for?" John asked, still frozen in the doorway.

            "He braided my hair for me and then wanted to know what it was like." John arched one brow at that, looking at the braid Mary wore and then at Sherlock's slumped over figure.

            "You know, sometimes I wonder about him. I really do."

            "Oh behave," Mary chided, smiling as she gently stroked Sherlock's scalp with her fingers. If this was what it would take to keep him in the house and quiet then she was certainly willing to do it.

**Author's Note:**

> To elaborate on "The Lost Hours" series I sort of really wanted Mary to come in to the mix as far as the TV show but it looks like the fandom will have to wait until series 3 of Sherlock. I also really liked the idea of an outsider looking in to the mayhem that was not directly related to much of what goes on as far as the crimes that Sherlock and Co. solve. And who doesn't love an antagonized Sherlock. Plus I also like the levity that comes from a more friendly bickering because I feel a lot of Sherlock-centric stories can be dark and I also like the quiet moments. The times when not much is going on and it's the more intimate parts of a characters personality that come out to play.


End file.
